He approached and eased the deer to the ground, rolled his shoulders to loosen them. "And this man came in, huh? Oh, great! I ought to kick you loose from your head, fellow."
"You're the one should be kicked, Nicky," the girl said.
"That sucker came right out onto the road and looked at me and ran back in. I shot too fast and missed and gutshot him, and you can't leave an animal go running off like that. I followed him a mile and a half, fast as I could go. What'd you expect me to do, Nena? I killed him, gutted him, and brought him in."
"It isn't what I expect you to do," she said. "It's what Brother Persival expects."
"You can get up," Chuck said.
After I stood up, I looked at Nicky. His face was troubled. "Boring damn duty," he said. "Hang around down there eight hours at a time. Nobody ever comes. And then when you leave for a couple minutes, some damn fool climbs the fence."
"He's hunting his daughter. She used to be here," Chuck said.
136
The Green Kipper
'what was her name?" Nena asked me. She appeared to be in her early twenties. Olive skin, slender face, very dark eyes. She had that excess of bursting health which gives the whites of the eyes a bluish tint. No makeup. The long dense black lashes were her own.
"Katherine McGraw. She'd be twenty years old by now. Reddish-brown hair and blue eyes and some freckles when she was younger. Maybe they went away."
"Got a picture of her?"
"The best picture we had of her, it was when she was thirteen, and after Peg died, that was my wife, damn if I could find it. I looked all over for that picture. She was a pretty child. She ought to be a good-looking woman. Her ma was."
"You don't know what new name she took?"
"She never said. In those postcards."
'A can't help you. I don't know if anybody can or wants to, Mr. McGraw. People that join up don't go back to the lives they had before."
"Where did everybody go from here?" I asked.
No answer. They urged me along and shut me up in C Building. It was a cement-block building about ten feet square, with two windows with heavy wire mesh over them. There was a wooden chair, a tree-trunk table, a stained mattress on the floor, and a forty-watt bulb hanging from a cord from the middle of the ceiling. There was a ragged pile of religious comic books, a musty army blanket, a two quart jug of tepid drinking water, and a bucket to use as a toilet. They had taken my belt, shoelaces, and duffel bag. The door was solidly locked. I heard some bird sounds, and that was all. I wondered if they had all left.
Darkness came, and there was a quick light rain on the corrugated roof of my prison. I heard a distant motor noise and tried to decide if it was coming or going. When the sound did not change, I realized it might be a generator, the engine turning over at an unchanging rpm. So I tried my light bulb again, and it went on. It did not help the decor.
Two of them came and unlocked my door. They had a dazzling-bright gasoline lantern, an automatic weapon at the ready, and a tin bowl full of stew. They were two I had glimpsed before at a distance. One was a sallow blond girl with very little chin, and the other was a young man with an Asian cast to his features.
No harm to object. After all, I was Tom McGraw. "Why are you people pointing guns at me all the time? Dame it, I'm not some kind of crimi- nal. I don't like being locked up like this. Where's my stuff you took away from me? I got my rights. You people are all gun-happy."
"Shut up, Dads," the Oriental said, and they closed the door and locked it.
Even though I had to eat it with a little white plastic spoon, I found the venison stew delicious. And it had been a long time since I had enjoyed the
The Green Ripper taste of anything. The lack of interest in eating had leaned me down a little over the past weeks.
There was a cook in the camp. Even a slight taste of wine in the stew. Boiled onions, carrots, celery, tomatoes. And a lot of it. After my dinner I read a religious comic book. All about Samson yanking down that temple. Samson looked like Burt Reynolds. Delilah looked like Liz Taylor. The temple looked like the Chase Bank.
After I turned my light off, I stretched out in my clothes on the dingy mattress and covered myself with the musty sheet. And in the darkness, I went over what I knew. I followed Meyer's injunction. Never mix up what you really know with what you think you know. Don't let speculation water down the proven truths. Leap to conclusions only when that is the only way to safety.
People talking outside my door awakened me. I knew it was late. I realized it was just the changing of the guard. I heard the clink of metal and a yawning good night and went back to sleep.
In the morning I was escorted down to a rushing tumbling icy creek by Nicky and the chinless blonde. She carried the weapon. I carried the soil bucket in one hand and held up my trousers with the other. I had asked politely for my belt, and they told me to shut up. They pointed me to the place on the bank where I could wash out the bucket in the fast water. Then I was allowed to go upstream to a place where I could dash some of the icy water into my face. Big Nicky was sullen. The blonde was trying to cheer him. When he answered, I found out her name was Stella. So I had four names out of the group of eight. They marched me back to C Building, again carrying the bucket, now empty, and holding up my trousers. I asked when they expected Mr. Persival, and they told me to shut up.
An hour later I was given cold scrambled eggs and cold toast on a pie tin, with another plastic spoon. They had changed cooks.
At midmorning I saw an interesting tableau from my window. I do not think they realized that I could see it. I had to get my face close to the screen and look slantwise. Two couples. Nena and a young man. Stella and a young man. Out of uni- form. Casual clothes. Each carried luggage. Suitcase, or small bedroll or duffel bag. Chuck stood off to one side, watching them closely. He had a whistle in his mouth and what was apparently a stopwatch in his hand. I could not understand the instructions he yelled at them. They walked close and lovingly, laughing and talking together, looking at each other, not at their surroundings. When the whistle blew, they would snatch at the luggage, yank it open, remove an automatic weapon, let the luggage fall to the ground, stand with their backs to each other, leaning against each other, almost, in a little deadly square formation, hold the weapons aiming out in four directions, and revolve slowly.
Then they would repack and do it again. I think
The Green Ripper
I watched fifteen rehearsals. Their time improved noticeably. I guessed that they had it down to just about four seconds before Chuck ended the exercise. Four seconds to change from two couples, lounging along, laughing together, to an engine of destruction.
I disobeyed one of Meyer's rules. I made an assumption or two. I assumed that they planned to put on their little act in a crowded place, like an airport or a shopping plaza, and the guns would be loaded, and people would be blown apart while still caught up in a horror of disbelief.
But why? They worked so very hard at it. They seemed so dedicated and intent. These were bright young people, very fit and disciplined. Playing a strange, strange game.
The noon meal was more venison stew. Still tasty.
The black van arrived in the late afternoon. It passed my window before I could see anyone in it. But I saw the gold cross painted on the side.
At least twenty minutes passed before my door was unlocked. Chuck said, "Step and pile everything on the floor right in front of the door here. Fold it and pile it. Everything."
"Damn it all, I want to know why I'm "
"Look. This is an order and it's serious. You want to strip, or be stripped?"
I did as I was told. They backed me into a corner and inspected the room to see if there was any thing of mine hidden in it. That search didn't take long. They went off with everything.
It could have been an hour later before anybody came near me. Then it was Mr. Persival himself. A tall stooped figure, shaggy tousled dark hair flecked with gray. Long face and a lantern ja
w. Eyes set deep in the bony sockets. The sports clothes looked unlikely on him, as did the big glasses with the slight amber tint, the boldface watch, water resistant to three hundred feet. He was an actor playing a contemporary Lincoln, or a Vermont storekeeper who'd built one store into a chain. He walked with care, the way the ill walk. The girl called Nena slid into the room with her weapon aimed at my chest and moved over to the side to keep Persival out of the line of fire. She was lithe and quick.
"My name is Persival, Mr. McGraw." A deep voice, soft and gentle. An air of total command, total assurance. "My young associates and I would be grateful for some explanation of this."
He held out a big slow hand, and resting on the palm was the cartridge case I had picked up. I spoke without hesitation, blessing the Susan I had known long ago for teaching me how to live a part. "Explanation? I picked that up out there. I never saw one just like it. I put it in my pocket. I mean, if that's the same one."
'I think we will go outside and you will show me where you found it."
The Green Ripper
"Can I have some clothes?"
"It isn't that chilly yet."
When I hesitated, I saw Nena lower the aiming_ point from chest to belly. I couldn't read anything in her eyes. She walked behind us. Persival walked just out of arm's reach, off to my left.
"And what were you doing over here?"
"I was looking for somebody so I could ask them about the Church of the Apocrypha, Mr. Persival. I wondered if the road I came up went down this side to more buildings, maybe. Then I saw all those trees down there, the way they were busted off at the same height. I went down and looked at them. I saw trees looking like that after we cleared some people out who were trying to ambush us, but the man on point stopped them in time. It was done some time ago. Weeks ago, probably, from the dead leaves and the dry wood. I saw slug marks on the trunk and I could kind of figure where the weapon must have been. Or weapons. Right over here. So I saw a glint in a crack in the rocks. Here, I think. No, it was this one. Because here is the twig I hooked it out with. It was a kind I never saw before, so I put it in my pocket. And now you've got it."
He nodded at me and smiled in a kindly way. "You were just wandering around here, At. McGraw?"
"Looking for somebody to talk to."
He sighed and said, "Yes. Looking for somebody to talk to."
"Then I was walking toward the buildings when the patrol came up onto the flat right over there."
'withy do you call it a patrol?"
"I don't know. People in uniform carrying weep" ons and ammo, wearing light packs. Not enough for a squad, and they were coming back out of the country. What would you call them?"
"Followers of the true faith."
"Well, I wouldn't know that. I would like to know something about my little girl and how I can find her."
"Let's walk back. It's getting chilly."
"I'd appreciate that," I said. If there is any way to feel more naked than standing out in 60-degree weather as the day is ending, with a girl aiming an automatic weapon at the small of your back, I would not care to hear of it.
On the way back I noticed that he did not walk quite as far out to my left. I could have reached him, if I felt suicidal.
"You were carrying a considerate amount of cash in the double lining of that duffel bag, Mr. McGraw."
"I was hoping you wouldn't look that close."
"We're very careful people. Is it stolen?"
"Hell, no, it's not stolen! Or maybe it is now, hah?"
"Don't become agitated, please. Just tell me
The Green Ripper where you got it." I told him. He thought it over and nodded. "So you decided to make your funds last as long as possible, so your search would not be hampered by the need to seek employment."
"That's exactly correct."
We went inside. He sat on the straight chair and told the girl to go get my clothes. She hesitated, and he looked stonily at her and said, "Sister?" She scuttled away. She brought the clothing. Persival sent her away. He watched me dress. He said, "You seem to have suffered an extraordinary number of wounds, Mr. McGraw. Are they all service-connected?"
"No, sir, not all. Two are. High on my back on the right side and the shoulder. And here on the left hip."
"How about that huge wound on your right thigh?"
'What was a hunting accident long ago. I went a long time before they found me. It got infected, and I was out of my head and nearly died. Some of this other stuff, I'm in kind of an active line of work. And the guys I work with, when we play we play rough. Beside that, sir, I have a bad temper sometimes. I go out of my head, sort of. I haven't kilt anybody, but I've tried hard."
"You don't seem to have the hands of a commercial fisherman."
I held my hands out and looked at them, backs and fronts. "What do you mean? Oh, you mean like those old boys that go out in the freezing water off of Maine or someplace? They get those big paws like catcher's mitts, and those busted twisted fingers. My daddy had hands like that from working the big nets. It's all nylon now, and you have to wear tough gloves or cut yourself to ribbons. Besides, I haven't been out working the nets for a long time now."
"You seem to be in excellent shape, Mr. McGraw."
"I'm not as good as I'd like to be. You know, the old wind. And the legs give out first. But I've always stayed in pretty good shape. Never had a beer belly."
"And you have had combat experience?"
"As a grunt. I can do the BAR, mortars, flame, mines, whatever. I was in it fourteen months. Got to be a utility infielder."
"Then you must have watched our little... patrol with a practiced eye. Would you have any comment?"
"I haven't seen much. They're trained down fine, physically. They move quick and they move well. They carry the weapons at the ready. But all the rest of it? I don't know what they can do. They look good. What are they training up to do any- way?"
"Please sit down there, on the mattress, Mr. McGraw. Make yourself comfortable." He hitched the straight chair closer and leaned over, forearms
The Green Ripper resting on his knees, long fingers dangling. '] will do you the courtesy of speaking to you with absolute frankness."
"Something happened to my little girl?"
"Please. I wouldn't know about that, nor even how I could find out. I am trying to tell you that if I were to follow my own rules, I would have my young associates take you out into the tall trees and blow your head off."
"Why? Why the hell would you do that?"
"You came stumbling and bumbling in here through an entrance that should have been guarded. The young man responsible will be punished. But I am not taking pity on your innocence and your naive quest. I am thinking of sparing you only because I believe there is some specific use I can make of you."
"Such as what?"
"Are you in any position to ask me that, right now?"
"I reckon not, if you don't want me to, Mr. Persival."
It was getting so dark I could hardly see his face. I could see a pale reflection of the after-dusk sky in his tinted glasses. He had a strange weight and force about him. Total confidence and a total im- partiality.
The distant engine started. The overhead bulb flickered, glowed, brightened. He stood up and stared down at me, then turned on his heel and left, leaving the door open. I walked out and stood with my thumbs hooked in my belt, looking at the faint glow in the western sky, above the sharp tips of the big pines far down the slope. I had the feeling I was being watched, and that it had been set up before Persival paid his call. I yawned and stretched, scratched myself, and slouched back into C Building, wondering if I should have pushed the money question a little harder. Would Tom McGraw have pushed it? Not when faced with the possibility of getting shot in the head.
I wondered when they were going to bring me something to eat, and if it would be the stew again.
Then I heard them all coming. They had flashlights and lanterns. I tightened up, and then heard lau
ghter.
The sallow blonde arrived first, carrying a camp stool and a cooking pot and a flashlight. "We're having a party, Brother Thomas! At your house!"
"So come right in, Sister Stella. Come right in," I said.
148
10 They filled the room. They brought stools and cush ions, a gasoline lantern, food, and wine. Nine of them and one of me. Plastic paper plates and genu ine forks. Paper cups and a big container of coffee. Jolly and smiling. I knew Chuck, the patrol leader, and three of his six soldiers Nena and Stella and the Oriental. I learned that the Oriental was Sammy. The other three were Haris, a slender blond Englishman the name pronounced to rhyme with police and Barry, a young black with a shaved head and dusty tan coloring, and Ahman, who looked like a young Turkish pirate. Persival was there, and also Alvor, one I had not seen be fore. He was chunky, with a broad gray heavy face, 149
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